The next morning, in the royal capital.
In a shabby wooden house tucked deep inside a narrow alley—
After finishing a simple breakfast, Zana stretched his body a bit, then prepared to step out and begin his day's work.
But the moment he opened the door, something dripped onto the back of his hand through the top gap of the door—a cold, wet droplet, like water. He initially assumed it was rainwater and didn't think much of it. After all, he'd clearly heard the sound of rain pouring during the night.
However, when he tried to wipe his hand clean, he noticed that the liquid was red—and slightly thick.
Zana's body trembled.
"Blood?"
'Did someone die nearby last night?'
'Did someone use the sound of heavy rain to cover up a murder?'
Immediately, the most likely explanation popped into his mind.
In this dark alley, aside from ordinary impoverished residents, there were several groups of gangsters.
Those people might not be skilled—but they were certainly ruthless.
For just a few gold coins, they wouldn't hesitate to start a bloodbath. Fights over turf during stormy nights weren't unheard of.
After hesitating for a while, Zana slowly opened the door wider and cautiously leaned his head out to get a better look at the situation outside.
What met his eyes was a ground soaked in crimson. The uneven road surface had collected pools of blood, looking more like stagnant puddles than a street.
A thin, blood-colored stream flowed from the entrance of the alley all the way to its end. Even the walls of nearby houses were splattered with red, as if someone had painted everything with blood. The sight was utterly chilling.
"What the hell is this?"
Zana sniffed the faint scent of blood in the air, utterly baffled.
He couldn't figure out where so much blood could have come from.
Logically, even if every person in the alley had been killed, it still wouldn't produce such a massive amount of blood.
Looking toward his neighbors' homes, he noticed that the usual morning gossipers were nowhere to be seen. Only a few moving shadows behind door cracks proved there were still people inside.
A chill ran down his spine, and he had the strong urge to slam the door shut and lock himself in.
But after a brief internal struggle, his imagination kicked into overdrive:
'Could the Mardain Principality have fallen? Was the capital taken during the storm last night? Are they massacring the city right now, which is why there's so much blood?'
His eyes sharpened, and he pressed his body to the wall, quietly edging toward the exit of the alley. If what he imagined was true, he had to get out of this alley before anyone came to take control.
"Gulp…"
As he got closer to the end of the alley, Zana swallowed hard. His heart pounded faster with each step, and from the gaps in nearby doors and windows, he could feel countless eyes silently watching him.
"Everyone's watching me!" he suddenly thought.
He even vaguely saw a group of gangsters crouching on a rooftop, secretly observing him.
"Kid's got guts. He might just make it," Zana imagined one of the bald men thinking, just from the way he looked at him.
Just as Zana was about to poke his head out of the alley, he heard faint footsteps from outside—not at all like the usual lively bustle of the capital.
He instinctively wanted to pull back.
But driven by a surge of courage, he pushed forward and peeked outside.
The street was completely empty.
No people. No piles of corpses like he had expected.
Only an old man sweeping the ground. The blood-red water rippled with each motion of his broom. The surrounding stillness and unnatural calm made Zana's scalp tingle.
After a tough internal debate, Zana slowly approached. In the gentlest voice he had ever used, he asked timidly, "Sir, what happened in the capital yesterday? Why is there no one around?"
The old man paused mid-sweep at the sound of his voice. Like a rusted machine, he slowly turned his face toward Zana and replied in a hoarse, lifeless tone:
"Nothing happened. It's just… the rain was a strange color…"
Each syllable dragged out as if being squeezed through an old pipe. Coupled with the blood-colored surroundings and the man's yellowed, withered face, the atmosphere became overwhelmingly eerie. Zana felt his hair stand on end.
"S-So it's just… blood-colored rain then…"
He licked his lips and forced a smile. The old man gave him the creeps.
Just as Zana was about to back away, the old man half-lifted his eyelids, as if recalling something, and added:
"Oh, right. This blood rain… they say it's related to a tragic love story. Some even say it's a divine gift from the heavens. You might want to go check out the end of the street. Supposedly a lot of girls are there crying their eyes out…"
"…What???"
Zana froze, completely confused.
How could a tragic love story and blood rain be connected?
Shouldn't this be considered a bad omen? A punishment from the heavens?
Still full of doubts, he headed in the direction the old man mentioned. Along the way, he saw a few scattered pedestrians—all of whom looked cautious and puzzled, clearly just as clueless as he was.
It didn't take long before he reached the end of the street, where a large crowd had gathered. And just as the old man said, a group of young women were crying bitterly.
Not just crying—they were bawling their hearts out while discussing something passionately. Zana had no idea what was going on.
Curious, he edged closer to eavesdrop on their conversation—
And was instantly captivated!
Turns out, the Duke had gathered dozens of poets, storytellers, and orators to craft a tale. It wasn't just beautifully worded and poetic—it was loaded with emotionally devastating plotlines. With so many creative minds collaborating, the story was layered, heart-wrenching, and irresistibly engaging.
The Mardain Principality: a poor commoner male lead.
A wealthy noblewoman from the Yharnis Principality: the female lead who needed help to save her declining family.
And the noble fiancé from Yharnis: a side character whose only job was to be cheated on and emotionally destroyed.
Together, the trio formed a perfect love triangle.
The story didn't just detail the romance born from a fateful encounter between the main leads—it subtly hinted at their families' complicated issues, and even broader social injustice.
Like the side character who, even after being cheated on, still chose to forgive with a dramatic "Of course I forgive her!"
The tale climaxed with the male lead dying tragically thanks to the villainous interference of the fiancé. Then the female lead committed suicide—causing the heavens themselves to weep blood.
Maybe not an all-time classic, but definitely among the top three tragedies of the year.
For a guy like Zana, starved for entertainment, the story completely sucked him in.
"A love story between a poor boy named Adam and a noble girl named Eve?"
"Several feuding families and their tangled grudges?"
"A hate-magnet noble fiancé from the Yharnis Principality?"
"And both main characters die in the end?! What is this, a magical version of Titanic plus Romeo and Juliet?!"
Meanwhile, not far away—
Orsaga sipped soup as he watched a group of sobbing maids passionately discussing the story.
He tilted his head, finding it mildly amusing.
From the plot, it seemed the public's taste for drama wasn't much different between Earth and this other world.
The only weird part was how the female lead's fiancé somehow became the villain. The poor guy got his fiancée stolen, tried to fight back, and ended up being the one condemned by the public.
Even Orsaga—no stranger to villainy—couldn't wrap his head around that logic.
"Maybe… this is what people mean when they say 'simps never prosper,'" he muttered.
Still, he hadn't expected his offhand action to inspire Jaemar into launching a full-scale public opinion campaign.
At this rate, the newly fabricated love story would soon spread across the entire kingdom—fanning the flames of resentment toward the Yharnis Principality among the lower classes.
Well… guess he unintentionally helped Jaemar a bit. Not that he cared.
After finishing his meal, Orsaga turned to the woman beside him—a beautiful, graceful, and solemn-looking housekeeper around twenty-five years old—and said:
"Prepare a carriage. I want to go out today."
Hearing this, the housekeeper froze in surprise before replying:
"Yes, sir."
Since she'd been assigned here, she had never seen Orsaga leave the house. He hardly ever interacted with others either.
From her observations, while Orsaga was undeniably handsome and charismatic, he seemed completely detached from the world—as if nothing ever piqued his interest.
Even when Crown Prince Jaemar came personally to visit, Orsaga didn't seem the least bit nervous. In fact, Jaemar himself had seemed rather reserved in his presence.
That baffled her.
Still, she knew better than to ask questions. Many things were simply not her concern.
To be honest, she didn't even know his real name—just his title and a rough sense of his habits after living with him for two or three months.
He was only marginally less mysterious than a stranger.
Fortunately, despite his cold demeanor, Orsaga had a very mild temper. He never lashed out. He never acted petty or cruel towards her.
Otherwise, she'd have found him far more difficult to serve.
____
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